


between the sentries of the heart

by MistressKat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:26:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Turns out love and pride taste a lot like blood.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	between the sentries of the heart

**Author's Note:**

> This was written way back during the early seasons, and was originally meant to be a part of a themed set. Posted now as, while I’ll never finish the whole thing, parts of it will work as standalones. Excellent beta-reading provided by [virtualinsomnia](http://virtualinsomnia.livejournal.com/). Title from _Alexandra Leaving_ by Leonard Cohen.
> 
> **See end note for a warning (spoilery for a fic)**

 

Dean can’t see. This is a bad, bad thing. He needs to see so he can find his shotgun (which he seems to have lost along with his eyesight) and blast the hairy-assed Sairt… Siertey… Schuyr… the Big Bad Thing With Razor Sharp Claws Whose Name Dean Can’t Pronounce to kingdom come.  
  
Yes. That’s the plan. He nods decisively and groans as the back of his skull scrapes gravel. Huh.  
  
“Dean!”  
  
Long-fingered hands rub at his face, smearing warm sticky blood out of his eyes, and okay, good, now he can see. Sam hovers above him, his stupid girly fringe brushing against Dean’s forehead. He tries to focus on anything that might be coming at them from the sides, but there’s only the night sky, the moon looking wan and sickly. Ah. Flat on his back then.  
  
“Sam?”  
  
“Right here.”  
  
Well, he can see _that_ , but it’s not what he meant.  
  
“Did you get it, Sam? Is it dead?”  
  
His brother’s gaze flits up and around, checking the surroundings. Good man. There’s a quick rush of pride and love, running so hot and deep through his veins that he almost chokes on it.  
  
“Easy, Dean. Easy.” Sam’s pulled him halfway into his lap and is holding him by the shoulders as he coughs and spits. Turns out love and pride taste a lot like blood.  
  
“Yeah, Dean, I got it. It’s gone, okay? Just…”  
  
Dean loses some time there, and the next thing he knows he’s back on the ground, Sam arched around him like a suspension bridge, graceful and immovable. His face is wet. Dean uncurls a hand to see if it’s raining, and it must be because the asphalt feels slippery and his own clothes--  
  
But that’s good, Sam likes the rain. Dean remembers how they used to run outside and squeal with delight during storms, and it was fun. Dean remembers, sure he does, but before he can tell Sam about it the words unravel, frayed ends hanging loose in his mind.  
  
It’s getting difficult to breathe; the air feels too thick and slow, trickling down his throat like molasses. There’s a crushing weight on his chest, only Dean doesn’t remember his brother being this heavy. He should tell Sam to back off, to give him some room, but he likes him close.  
  
“It’s okay, Dean. It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Of course he does. Dean knows that. They should probably get to the car though; Dean’s feeling pretty tired, and soon he won’t be able to drive. He feels his eyes slipping shut, and it’s weird ‘cos everything’s getting brighter instead of darker…  
  
There’s a hand cupping his face, and it must be trapping in all the warmth because Dean’s not cold anymore, not at all. Somewhere in the back of his mind, awareness is swelling, huge and ominous like a cloud of thunder, but it’s too slow and too far away for him to grasp it.  
  
Sam’s mouth brushes against his, lips chapped and demanding, and Dean thinks _not like this_ , he wants to be awake for this. Sam’s talking, but Dean can’t make it out, heartbeat loud – _too loud. Why is it so loud? Something’s wrong_ – in his ears and goddammit he better remember this when he wakes up.  
  
Sam whispers something – _something, Dean, please_ – his name, that’s good so Dean smiles, to let him know it’s okay, to make his brother happy, to--  
  
He blinks his eyes, trying to see better, but everything is turning golden around the edges, the world shimmering out of focus.  
  
“Sammy,” he whispers, smiling.  
  
It must be dawn.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Warning:** Major character death


End file.
